Never Tell
by Montley
Summary: Winky only had one love in her short life that mattered to her in the slightest. It was neither romantic nor beautiful. It was a simple love between two small souls, until one grew fractured, depraved and cruel.


Never Tell

By Montley

Winky only had one love in her short life that mattered to her in the slightest. It was neither romantic nor beautiful. It was a simple love between two small souls, until one grew fractured, depraved and cruel. His name was Barty, and she fell in love the moment her large eyes set upon his tiny, red orbs, and when he enormous ears listened to his coo.

She was the one who raised him alongside his mother, a happy woman unlike his bitter and cold father, who was just like all of the other high-esteemed ministry workers. Sometimes, Winky wanted to steal Barty away into the night so that it would simply be the two of them, together forever. But it was not natural, nor was it fair to Barty or his true mother who could provide him with more love than she could.

Before Barty, Winky had never loved. She never knew her own mother. Instead, she was breeded like all the rest of the house elves she knew. She was breeded only to work, to slave and to breathe. Not to love. No one would think that a house elf could love.

Barty grew older as time flew by within Winky's arms, but she never failed to protect the smiling boy, who was always eager to please his cruel, vindictive father. She would hold him as he wept, comfort him with her soft words that he would care to understand.

She would find herself whispering to him,_ "Winky hopes you live a life you're proud of, Barty Crouch Jr.. If you find that you're not, Winky hopes you have the strength to start all over again, Barty Crouch Jr."_

But soon the dreaded time came for Barty to flit away upon the great, large train, steaming with smoke, which whisked children away every year. His eyes had alit with joy once the train came into his view. His mother wept happily for her son's future, but sadly for herself. A lone tear strolled down Winky's face, unnoticed by the happy boy. Each year Barty went back to school was a greater pain for Winky, a pain that she wished never existed. Sometimes she hoped to have the little baby in her small arms once more.

And then all at once Barty grew older, nastier, but Winky did not want to know or learn of the evil that was ultimately growing inside his veins. Nonetheless, she still loved him, and she still cared for his every whim, anything that he needed or desired at all, even when he would slap her, even when he would kick her down the endless flight of stairs, and even when he would burn her. He may not love her anymore, he may not be the little boy that she used to know, the one that she used to care for with every breath she took, but he was the same boy, just older. Older and with no time for a house elf's burning, endless love.

Barty's endless cruelness became almost like something as a game to him. Where he would bite and maim, and Winky would clean up any messes he left, and pretend that she did not hear him cry. He would not let her comfort him anymore. He was too old, and she was only a lowly house elf who loved too much. Everything was a game nowadays.

Though, Winky believed that Barty would never hurt her like his father did. She was at least not a plaything to him as she was to his father, a ragdoll that he could toss around and cut. Barty was not like that. Surely he would not hurt someone that he cared for, even slightly. Though, she would cringe slightly in fear when he would walk past her, afraid that he would, afraid to see what his cruelness, and what _He _has done to her little boy.

She knew that he had fallen into his new master's sharp clutches, and he made her swear that she would never dare tell his father, and so she never dared told a single soul. Because of this, he became softer with her, for she was the only one that knew his secret, except for that skimpy Regulus boy he kept bringing around every day when he was home from school for the summer. And that was another secret that Winky was not allowed to speak of about her little boy. No matter how hard the punishment from her true master, she never spoke a word against Barty. For she loved him too much.

His father would demand, swing, at her for answers about his son. But Winky always declaimed that she knew nothing about what dear Barty was doing.

But then she did not even have to tell them, for the quick time passed, Barty graduated from Hogwarts with seven NEWTs. Winky was proud of him, and yet she knew that the castle would crumble down from the inside out soon.

And she was right, for not many years later, other people like Barty, the venomous and known Death Eaters were on trial after the Boy-Who-Lived, after his master was destroyed and everyone rejoiced.

And Barty was on trial with three others, part of a group who had tortured an innocent couple into insanity. He was sentenced to Azkaban for life, and his own father was the one to proclaim and choose his sentence. And Winky had screamed.

Mrs. Crouch had insanely wept and hyperventilated when she and her husband finally returned home. Yet, her husband slapped her in his rage, and Winky could feel his coldness was he swept past her, knocking her to the floor. But all she noticed was that her baby was gone., that her sweet little child would never return home.

Yet, Winky was able to visit her Barty with a snap of her tiny, calloused fingers. She gave him food, any type of sustenance that he required. Winky would hold Barty as he wept, and she would keep the Dementors away from him.

When Mrs. Crouch came to her with her ingenious proposition, Winky did not even need to be forced to do the deed. With a simple snap of her fingers, Mrs. Crouch and Barty were switched, her sweet little boy finally released from the tortures of Azkaban and the cold, monstrous kiss of the Dementors.

He was safe.

And Winky would never tell a soul.

* * *

**This was for the Quidditch League Competition where I had to write about Winky: **

**Prompts: Game, Train and I hope you live a life you're proud of. If you find that you're not, I hope you have the strength to start all over again. - Eric Roth**


End file.
